Toward the Dawn
by MalkieriJester
Summary: A Haymitch hurt story during the years between his Quater Quell and the 74th Games narrated in the 1st book. This is a gift for darkin520.


_AN:_

_This is a gift for darkin520, as a part of the holiday story exchange TRL,t. I would like to thank Megalink1126 for the invaluable beta work. I hope, very much, that you enjoy it, Darcy. Merry Christmas._

_Neither 'The Hunger Games' nor Haymitch Abernathy belong to me. They are the intellectual property of Suzanne Collins. I have hijacked them so that we all can have a new experience with them. I hand them back now, slightly used, but hopefully still serviceable._

**Toward the Dawn**

Years after his Quarter Quell 'victory', somewhere in the middle of the liquor shrouded night that his life had become and before his successful mentoring of another set of tributes, Haymitch Abernathy met Stellina.

Haymitch assumed that Stellina had been married; he had seen her walk down the street with a young girl and sometimes with a coal-blackened man. She never really crossed his mind, other than being a bright speck of beauty that, from time to time, lit the autumnal gloom that seemed to follow him throughout the District. Haymitch had often wondered if that gloomy feeling were something to do with him, a matter of perspective, or was it that things were just that depressing in District 12? He had never answered that question to his own satisfaction, but he had found a dampening agent that worked well enough if taken in high enough, and frequent enough, doses.

That's where he was coming from when he bumped into Stellina; returning to his Capitol-assigned cage, from the Hob, a bottle of clear liquor in each hand.

_The tinkling of the shop's doorbell brought Haymitch's eyes up from the ground, but it did not stop his momentum, so he was eye to eye with Stellina when he plowed into her._ _Those eyes seemed to widen in alarm, her expression turning to one of shock before their mutual fall tore his gaze from hers.Usually things moved a touch faster than Haymitch's liquor soaked mind could keep up with; this collision and subsequent fall, however, seemed to take all of that afternoon, stretch through the night and right on __through the following morning. Once the world seemed to resume a normal speed, he clambered to his feet, avoiding the broken glass that was swimming in his liquor._

_"Damn." He needed to go back to the Hob, now. He looked down. Stellina was looking down at her shirt, there seemed to be something smeared on it. His own shirt had a matching smear; it looked to be pink cake, with the slightest hint of frosting. __He couldn't be sure about the frosting__**;**__there might have been_ _some in the mess, but not much._

"_The cake." It was all she said. Haymitch didn't know what to say. Situations that involved other people weren't exactly his area of expertise._

"_Let me help you up." Stellina finally looked up as he extended his __hand__ toward her._

Haymitch probably couldn't have explained it at the time, but he had found himself going into the bakery instead of returning to the Hob to replace the lost booze. The baker's wife had told him that the woman had bought a cupcake for her daughter's birthday. There had been something in her eyes, as he had helped her to her feet, that compelled him to action.

When Stellina had answered the door of the house that he had tracked her to**, **her initial reaction had been surprised indifference. But when she saw the red-frosted cake in his hands, her face had bloomed into grateful joy, and he had been reminded just how beautiful Stellina really was. He had stood there on her doorstep, speechless. After a few silent moments Stellina had taken the cake from him and invited him in. It was her daughter's birthday**;** Everlily had turned thirteen that day. He had muddled through awkward silences and profuse thank yous. When he left that evening he had been confused and was not able to get Stellina off of his mind.

Everlily's father had died the year before, hacking and coughing and sickly. Stellina and her daughter had a rough patch following his death**; **they were just starting to talk to each other again. Stellina had worked and saved for a year to buy the cupcake that he had smashed into her sweater. The replacement cake had meant more to Stellina than Haymitch could have imagined.

The next few months had been quite a whirlwind compared to the liquor**-**soaked malaise that Haymitch had been used to. There were walks along the perimeter fence, lunch for two while Everlily was at school, conversations about things Haymitch had thought he would never talk about. Dinner at her home with the three of them had remained uncomfortable for quite sometime, though. Everlily didn't dislike him, not exactly. But she was obviously not thrilled with her mother talking to a new man.

For Haymitch's part he was not able to get close to children. Most specifically children between 12 years and 18 years old. Annually, since the Quarter Quell, he had been a part of the staged execution of two kids from District 12. Every year there were two scared, young, and painfully innocent victims. And he was supposed to 'mentor' them. Children were an area that he did not cope with very well. Eventually, though, Everlily and he had come to speaking terms, able to make small conversation over dinner with Stellina.

One evening shortly after Haymitch had returned from his 'duties' at the Hunger Games, Stellina was cleaning up after dinner. Everlily started a much deeper talk than dinner conversation.

"_Haymitch?" She seemed unsure; her voice quiet and tremulous._

"_Mmmm?"_

"_How can you stay sane?"_

"_Who's implying that I have?" He allowed himself a small chuckle._

"_I mean, every year you have to go to the Capitol. You have to spend time with two kids that you know are going die. You are supposed to help them, but there really isn't helping any of them, is there?"_

"_I can only really help a kid if they can help themselves." The words came out slowly__**. **__He __was not in the habit of talking about the Hunger Games: the Games were what he spent the rest of the year trying to forget about. He took a long drink of his clear whiskey. "If a kid brings something to the table, if they can convince the citizens that they have a fighting chance, maybe I can help them. But more importantly, they need to capture the audience's hearts and imaginations." He took another long drink._

_Everlily didn't say anything. It looked as if she might have regretted bringing the subject up._

"_For most of the kids from the District I am nothing but a token symbol. A figure that the Capitol holds up and says 'We will give you all the tools possible to win. Here, take the advice of a Victor. May the odds be ever in your favor.' Phaw!" He emptied his glass, then refilled it. "Your friends that__ are __selected don't have a friend in me__. __I am just another of the jokes that the Capitol has played on them."_

"_I'm sorry__, __Haymitch." Everlily's eyes met his, "I never really thought how bad it must be for you until you left and I watched the Games with you in mind, rather than the tributes. There is no part of the Hunger Games that isn't pure evil, is there? Even Victory?"_

"_No, no part. I don't think I have stayed very sane."_

After that Everlily and Haymitch had slowly grown a little bit closer. Stellina noticed the difference and appeared to be very happy. She did not comment about his drinking. Not much. She realized how much he had slowed down since they had started seeing each other. As time went on, Haymitch found himself glad to wake up, sometimes. He started to be happy to get out of his lonely house.

"_You better watch__ out, __Haymitch Abernathy." Stellina sighed._

_They were sitting together on the couch that hadn't had any use since he moved into the Victor's Cottage, his arm wrapped around her shoulders, and Everlily asleep in the second bedroom._

"_Watch out for what? The things that I fear are in plain sight and unavoidable."_

"_Soon people may start whispering that you are in love."_

"_People are welcome to whisper whatever enters their prying little minds." She laughed lightly. He leaned his head forward, putting his mouth right next to her ear. "It does not happen very often, but this time they would be right. I love you__,__ Stellina."_

_She lifted her head off of his chest and pulled away far enough that she could look at him. She searched his eyes for a moment__**.**__ "I love you too, Haymitch Abernathy."_

Later that night had been the first time that they made love. He was beginning to think that old haze that he had walked around in had been a choice. A perspective that he had clung to. Life didn't have to be tragedy piled onto tragedy.

A week before the Reaping, Everlily brought home her art project from school. She had been talking about this project for a month or more. She had painted a picture. Of her and her mother...and Haymitch. The three of them were walking, hand in hand, out of a dark night and toward the shining beauty of a sunrise. Haymitch had been speechless. He was beginning to accept the idea that he wanted to marry Stellina. The two women were making his life enjoyable: something that he had given up as impossible long ago.

When Effie called out "Everlily Ewersall," Haymitch exploded off of his chair and almost tackled her, trying to pry the ticket out of her hand. It was no mistake. Everlily was going to be one of the District's tributes. The encounter with Stellina before he had to board the train had been surreal.

"_Make sure she wins. You make SURE!"_

"_You know I will do everything I can, Stellina. Everything." His voice was quiet__**. **__He __was lost inside, trying to think of something he could say. Some lie he could tell that might make the next couple of weeks easier on her._

"_You make sure, Haymitch. I know you can make sure. Make sure she wins." Stellina was hysterical, tears streaming down her face. She couldn't make sense of anything except that Haymitch had to save Everlily._

_There was only one lie that could help, and that only temporarily. "I'll make sure." He could see that she was so far gone that she actually believed it._

Haymitch slept less during those Games than during his own. He had spent every waking moment either training, coaching, or strategizing. Every night when Everlily begged off for sleep, Haymitch stayed up, trying to figure out a way to help her survive. Everlily, at fourteen, was wiser than he allowed himself to be. He could see that she was playing along for his sake. She knew what was coming, and all of his efforts weren't fooling her. She had acceptance, and seeing it in her face crushed him.

Once the Hunger Games began he worked potential sponsors tirelessly. He coaxed, wheedled, and begged. Ultimately, the cannon had intoned Everlily Ewersall's death wail on the second day of the 67thHunger Games. Haymitch was sure that there must have been a shortage of alcohol in the Capitol by the time he boarded the train to go home. He had, single-handed, drank enough to kill most men nine or ten times over.

Afterward, he had tried to go and talk to Stellina. He wasn't sure what he would say, but at the least he wanted to apologize. She would not answer the door for him. She would stay inside for days when he decided to wait outside for her to exit. Haymitch never spoke to Stellina again after that tearful, pleading encounter at the train station before he and Everlily left.

Two winters later, Haymitch stumbled out of his cottage one early afternoon. He needed to make his way to the Hob, needed to replenish the contents of his liquor cabinet. When he stepped out of the door, remembering this time to close it behind him, he saw a package leaning against an evergreen tree that grew in front of his house. There was no snow under the package; the needled branches of the evergreen had kept clear a circle of ground surrounding the trunk.

Brown twine crisscrossed the brown paper that covered whatever had been left for him. He bent over, unsteadily, and slowly came back up with the mystery in his hand. He inspected it closely, but there were no notes or anything else that might hint at where the thing came from. Slowly, with the deliberate motions of a drunk that needed a drink, he removed first the twine, then the paper. It was the picture. The one that Everlily had painted: the three of them, hand in hand, walking out of the night toward a bright new day.

Haymitch never made it to the Hob that day.

Finally, Haymitch had wrapped the painting in a sheet and hidden it in the extra bedroom of his cottage. He could not face that picture every day, but neither could he get rid of it. Never could he discard the token of understanding, if not forgiveness, that Stellina had given him on that midwinter day.

END


End file.
